I've Got A Dream
by Svendances
Summary: This is song fic (of sorts) to "I've Got A Dream" from Disney's Tangled. The Merry Men share their deepest secrets with Steph. It's definitely a little AU. But I hope it makes you laugh. Complete.


_So here's the deal: This morning I woke up with "I've Got A Dream" from Disney's Tangled stuck in my head, and as I danced around the kitchen singing random lines from it as I made my breakfast I began to imagine the scene with the Merry Men rather than the thugs. Needless to say I couldn't get the idea out of my head. So this afternoon I finally sat down and wrote it. Oh, and FYI, for this story to work, we have to assume that Steph has spent very little time actually with the Merry Men. So this would pretty much be her first real encounter with them as a group. Hope you enjoy it._

**I've Got A Dream**

I stood in the parking lot behind my apartment building staring between the two cars I currently had in my possession. One was a shiny, black, beautiful Porsche Cayenne that belonged to the one and only Ranger. He'd lent it to me without a question and I'd actually managed to keep it one piece. Mostly. The rear fender was a little beat up and there was some paint missing, but other than that it was perfect. The other was a cosmetically unappealing but otherwise fine, tan Ford Escort that I'd just bought with the insurance money from the last one that had exploded unexpectedly.

Lula had driven me to the used car lot, and we'd parted ways once I'd bought the Escort, since we'd have to drive separately anyway, but now I had a dilemma. I had my own mode of transport now, so I really should return the Porsche. The problem was getting it back to Rangeman and then getting myself home again as one person. I could call Lula and get her to meet me at Haywood to give me a lift home, but giving Lula the knowledge of where Ranger lived and operated seemed like a dangerous move. For all of us. I had visions of her attempting to break in 'after hours' to get a peek at what was inside.

Eventually I decided the best way to work it was to call Ranger and let him know that I no longer needed the car. He didn't answer his cell, so I called the Rangeman control centre instead. The guy that answered listened to my situation and promised to send someone over to collect it, so I slid the key under the mat in the driver side foot well and made my back to my apartment.

The next thing I knew, three SUVs pulled into the lot and skidded to a stop directly in front of me. Hal and Tank jumped out of the first one, and went in opposite directions; Tank headed for the Porsche while Hal made a beeline for where I stood between two cars in the front row.

"Three SUVs for one pick up?" I asked him as he approached.

He grinned at me. "We were on our way out. Wanna come with?"

I looked from Hal to the SUVs lined up behind him, unsure of what exactly would be in store for me if I agreed, especially given the potential number of large, muscled men that could be concealed behind the tinted glass of the windows. "Uh, come where, exactly?" I finally asked. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all Ranger does for me, and the fact that his men are willing to do anything he tells them, but for the most part they were rather intimidating. That, and the fact that usually Ranger would let me know if he needed my help with something.

"Lunch," Hal explained, his eyes twinkling. "We're headed over to Shorty's. You know you can't say no pizza."

And that is how I found myself wedged between Hal and... I wanna say Woody, but all the Rangemen look alike to me, in the back seat of the lead SUV. They refused to let me drive separate.

It only took a few minutes to reach Shorty's at which point I was hustled out of the car and into a booth in the back of the restaurant. I was forced in between Hal and Woody again with Lester, Tank and Bobby across from us while the remaining five men assembled an extra table and chairs leading on from our booth. Tank ordered 'the usual' when the waitress appeared between Hector and Binkie.

The men were rowdy, calling comments down the tables regardless of the fact that four people sat between them and the person they were trying to communicate with. There was laughter and the occasional, random bang of a fist against the table. None of them ever sat still for longer than a moment, including Hal and Woody. I tried to make myself as small as possible to avoid their shifting elbows, tucking my hands between my knees as I gazed around the group with wide eyes.

I'd never been amongst them like this. The most I'd been with at one time was four and then it was all business as we carried out a 'redecorating' job. To tell the truth, I was a little scared about what was going on here.

"Relax, Steph," Hal laughed, play punching me in the arm. "No one's gonna hurt you."

"Not on purpose," I agreed, eyeing the way Tank's bicep bulged as he rested his elbow on the table.

He caught me staring and leaned his other elbow on the table as he met my gaze. "I know I seem malicious," he started.

"Mean," Woody added.

"And scary," Lester put in.

"Actually, one time, I swear to god he sneered at my yoghurt and it curdled. Just like that," Junior explained, from three people away.

Tank sent him a glare that I could almost believe would make milk spoil before turning back to me. "And violence-wise my hands aren't the cleanest," he continued, glancing around as if daring the others to jump in again. "But despite my evil look, my temper and my semi-automatic, I've always yearned to be a concert pianist."

Luckily, I wasn't in middle of taking a sip of my water when he said that, because I can assure you it would have been a spit take. Surely I heard him wrong. Pianist? "You're kidding," I stated.

"Can't you just picture him hunched over a baby grand performing Mozart?" Cal asked, putting on a surly expression while he mimed unenthusiastic piano playing. "Tickling the old ivories till they're all shiny."

"Yeah," Tank agreed. "People call me deadly because of my job, but I'd rather it be for my killer show tune medley."

"'Cos he's got a dream," Hal said gleefully by my ear. "Not so cruel and vicious after all, is he?"

As a giggle attempted to bubble up from the throat, Tank met my gaze steadily. "I still like breaking femurs, though," he assured me. "That doesn't make me any different to regular people though. We all got dreams."

There was a murmur of agreement all through the men and I'd just started to relax when Lester tapped on the table, grabbing my attention. He looked directly into my eyes as if willing me to understand something. "I've got scars," he informed me, lifting his shirt to reveal a crisscrossing of raised white lines covering his abdomen. "And lumps," he added, taking my hand and bringing it to a small egg on the back of his head. When he released me again he leaned back against the seat and lifted the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a smattering of colour. Blue, green and purple all mottled together. "And bruises."

"Something over here is bruising," Tank pointed out, gesturing to the bandage on Lester's forearm where blood had begun to seep through. "You should probably let Bobby check that out."

Bobby, in turn leaned over Tank to see the aforementioned oozing, only to roll his eyes as he sat back down with a sigh. "Let's not even mention all your stitches," he said.

"But regardless of all my ailments, I really wanna make a love connection." He waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively, startling a laugh from my throat.

"Lay off, Cassanova," Woody warned. "You know the boss called dibs ages ago."

I looked from Woody to Hal to the men across the table from me, and finally to the men leaning in from the end of the booth. They all had the same expression on their faces. One of agreement with Woody with a slight hint of exasperation for Lester. "Called dibs?" I asked meekly, aware that they were all staring at me now.

"Yeah," Binkie said with a shrug. "Why else do you think we wanna get to know you?"

I blink a few times. Was that what they were trying to do here? Get to know me by pointing out how scary they were and talking about ridiculous things? "You're trying to get to know?" I asked after a long pause.

"We thought it would be easier if you got to know us first," Hank informed me.

"Aaaaand back to me," Lester said, pointing to himself with both hands. "I'd love to take that special little lady on a little rowboat. Maybe through the tunnel of luuurrrv." As I stared, aghast, he made obscene gestures as if he was making out with and invisible woman. Squeezing her boobs. His tongue darting out.

"Though he's a disgusting blighter," Tank said, slapping Lester upside the head and eliciting a short cry of pain as he came into contact with the egg I had felt earlier. "He's a lover, not a fighter."

Junior pointed to the number of injuries the man had. "Actually, I think you'll find he's a fighter as well."

"But he's holding fast to the idea of romance," Hank said on sigh. "Even though his face leaves girls screaming."

"It was one time!" Lester cried. "And I'd had an unfortunate run in with a rake the previous day."

"Hanks wants to quit and be a florist," Hal quickly announced, pointing to the man in question, drawing my attention to the blush rising on his cheeks at the revelation. "He does all of Lester's apology bouquets."

Hank in turn, turned a finger on Hector, who had been quiet throughout the entire conversation. "Hector does interior design," he practically accused. And somehow, I wasn't all that surprised.

The next thing I knew, Hector was pointing at Cal and in what appeared to be a self righteous tone he informed me, "Cal le gusta mimo."

I looked to Cal, hoping he could explain what I was supposed to be getting from Hector.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I'm into mime. But you should taste Bobby's cupcakes."

"Cupcakes?" I asked Bobby with a grin. I was really getting into these confessions. I'd assumed they were all just into working out and shooting people. Now here they were telling me things that they'd kept from the world as a whole for what must have been years. Sharing their inner most secrets. It almost made them seem human.

"That's right," Bobby nodded, leaning back in his seat, trying to look all gangsta. "I like to bake. So what? Junior knits."

"Only when we need new gloves," he admitted shyly. "It's hard to find gloves that fit our big hands. But Woody sews all sorts of things."

Woody rolled his eyes when I looked at him. "I do repairs on my own uniforms mostly," he explained. "But sometimes I make puppets for Hal's little shows."

"Little shows?" I attempted to raise one of my eyebrows, but judging by the chuckles that scattered around the table I was unsuccessful, just like always.

"He does puppet shows for the kids in the hospital," Binkie explained. "When he's puppeteering he gets to do everyone's voice, which suits him pretty well, since he never shuts up anyway."

More laughter encompassed the group and Woody reached behind me to bang his fist against Hal's shoulder in what appeared to an affectionate motion. I was grinning at them all, thinking that they were all just a bunch of misunderstood men with big dreams that didn't quite mesh with their appearances, when Lester spoke up again.

"Wait a minute, what about Binkie?"

"He collects pony toys," Hal said in a matter of fact tone.

Binkie seemed to bristle at this statement though. "Dude!" he said loudly. "They're not _toy ponies_ they're _ceramic unicorns_." Then in a hissed whisper, barely audible over the sniggering that surrounded me, he spat at Hal, "And I told you not tell anyone!"

"Oh, come on, Binkie," I said, shimmying my way over Woody's lap to reach him. "It's not so bad. Everyone has their dreams."

"They were my grandmother's," he mumbled, staring at his hands. "I helped her collect them."

"That's beautiful," I assured him.

"Speaking of beautiful," Lester said into the silence that had fallen. "What's your dream?"

Startled by the question, I had to stop and think about it for a moment. I'd never really expected them to ask. They all knew so much about me already. I mean, hell, they had a betting pool on how long I'd keep my cars. "I... ah...," I stumbled over what to say.

"Come on, Steph," Tank said. "We've all got them. What's yours?"

"They're not like yours, so much," I started. "I just kinda wanna be somewhere warm and sunny. Like on an island all of my own. Tanned, rested. That kind of thing. Oh!" I added as another thought jumped into my head. "Surrounded my piles of money!"

"Brilliant," Woody said. "Much better than sewing. Why didn't I think of money?"

"Probably because you already have enough to get your through each month," I pointed out. "I barely scrape by."

"You should talk to the boss about that," Tank mentioned as the waitress finally returned with six large pizzas and three jugs of beer. "I'm sure he could help you out."

"Oh, I'm sure he'd be happy to," I said with a roll of my eyes, shooing Woody across the booth seat so I could slide on beside him. "But what would it cost me?"

Around a mouthful of food, Bobby pointed out, "Boss man's got dreams too, you know."

A tingle shivered down my spine at that exact moment and I knew the Boss man he'd just mentioned had arrived. I turned around in my seat to find Ranger standing directly behind me, leaning against the high back of the booth. "Ranger," I breathed in surprise.

"He's right, Babe," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I've got a dream."

"What's that?"

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips lightly against my ear as he whispered, "I wanna see your eyes gleam." It seemed like a simple enough statement, but the way he said it made me think he meant something a whole lot _more_.

"See?" Hal said cheerily from behind me. "Boss man has a dream. Steph has a dream. We all got dreams."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Hank drawled. "One big dream team."

Ranger met my eyes for a long moment. "So what do you think of my men now, Babe?" he asked. "Brutal? Sick? Sadistic?"

I cast a meaningful glance over my shoulder to where Lester sat with pizza sauce smeared across his cheek. "That," I agreed. "And grotesquely optimistic." He pulled me out of the booth and onto his lap as he dragged a chair away from another table to join us. "But they have dreams. And dreams mean hearts."

"Sure," Ranger said, adding a little louder so that he had the men's attention. "But they should probably pack 'em a little deeper down if they don't want to lose their street cred."

* * *

_If you're happy and you know it send a review! If you're happy and you know it, send a review! If you're happy and you know it, then you really ought to show it. If you're happy and you know it, send a review!_


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